Getting there
Many details of my emigrating to Canada have slipped my mind; but there are snippits and more that come back to me.
I was the youngest of six children and it was the oldest who had married a Canadian soldier toward the end of WW II who sponsored me.
Leaving Stirling station where I was seen off by the family, I took the train down to Liverpool. I was a few months past 21 and the few possessions which I had acquired were squeezed into a heavy leather suitcase; a holdover from my father’s WW I days.
I was so overwhelmed by my adventure that the pangs of leaving the family did not sink through. It was not until I was aboard the RMS Franconia and the ship’s horn blared our departure that I was overcome with emotions.
The passage took eight days with very rough seas; causing the decks to be roped off for over 2 days. I was in the bowels of the ship; sharing a very small cabin with three others. Talk about claustraphobia. No wonder I was sea sick for over 2 days.
Landing at Halifax, Nova Scotia, I boarded a train that took four days and five nights - or was it five days and four nights - to get me to Edmonton. The next and final part of the journey was the train that took me to Dawson Creek, BC. That was a milk run that took 24 hours to travel about 400 miles; and I sat up the whole time.
An amusing aspect on my arrival was that I was met at the station by my sister and a friend who was driving a Oldsmobile convertible with the top down and the heater running at full blast. Even though the sun was shinning it was a very chilly April afternoon.
Another point of amusement was when my sister told me that she had received my wire that I would be arriving on the noon train. There is only one train a day. LOL
